Page 21 of Bound By Them
“Yeah.” Edmund knows he messed up. But he can’t back down. Maybe because, like me, he doesn’t want Danica’s family hurt. “It’s not worth it.”
“It’s worth half a million dollars.” Ed’s scowl transforms into a cruel smile. “Did you find pussy that’s worth half a million dollars?”
Edmund’s control snaps.
I see the fight coming, so I push the button on my phone to make it ring. The tone is a distressingly loud, obnoxious cover of Backstreet Boys’ “I Want it That Way.” The opening is unmistakable, from the guitar and that first “yeeeahhh.”
I pretend to scramble with my pocket, like I can’t pull my phone out. The song continues, moving into lyrics about fire and desire. “Sorry, sorry, sir. Shit, sorry.”
Ed glares. Not at me, but at Edmund. “I thought you had better control over your guard.”
I silence the phone, pretending to be embarrassed. Inwardly, I’m filled with grim satisfaction. Edmund is staring at me, incredulous, and Ed just looks annoyed.
Five minutes later, Edmund and I are striding out of the library and into the dark hallway of Rendsell.
“‘I Want it That Way’? Fucking really?” Edmund hisses.
I shrug. “Had to get your attention somehow.”
“Don’t tell me you always have it queued up in case things are going down.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you that.”
“Fucking hell, Manchester.” But he knocks my shoulder with his and adds in a quieter tone, “Thanks.”
I’m his bodyguard. I keep him safe. Even from himself.
Danica
Five days after I get my tattoo, it still itches like a poison oak rash covered in mosquito bites. At least it seems to be healing well, otherwise. I peer at the design while taking my shower. The crown encircles a long, wicked-looking dagger with a stylized A on the handle. I want to run my fingers over the ink, but even in the shower I avoid touching it. “The less you mess with it, the healthier, faster, and cleaner it will heal,” Grady had said at the parlor.
I gently dribble the special soap over it, then watch the water rinse it away. The heat exacerbates the itching and I grit my teeth.
Can a tattoo fix my broken family? Probably not. This was an idiotic move on my part—although I’m not gonna lie, I love my tattoo.
I turn off the water and dry myself, patting my healing skin gently with the towel.
It’s been a little over a week since I saw my parents, since I screamed at my mom. I haven’t texted or called, and they haven’t texted or called me, either. I’m still pissed off, but I miss them. Maybe they don’t miss me, though. Maybe sticking up for Patrick—a guy who sexually assaulted my friend—is more important than me, their daughter?
My roommate Elias’s voice startles me out of my Danica Doom Spiral. “D, your brother’s here!”
“The fuck? You let Dmitri in?” I throw on baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Fucking great. I really need my brother here, ruining whatever peace I’m trying to build. Because he brings a whole different conflict—that of hooking up with my bestie behind my back. I shout through the bathroom door, “You asshole, Elias. I swear to God, I’m going to sprinkle Cackle’s dirty litter over your bed while you’re sleeping.”
I wrap my towel around my hair and head to the living room to face my brother. He’s cajoling Cackle into best-friendship. There’s no loyalty in this cat.
Dmitri’s dark blond hair is messy, like he’s been nervously running his hands through it. He keeps his attention on the cat as he says, “Hey, sis.”
“Don’t fucking hey sis me. I’m still mad at you. What do you want?”
Cackle darts under my favorite chair. Dmitri watches Cackle’s retreat like he’s considering joining him.
He stands up and faces me, gray eyes determined. “I want to apologize.”
“Yeah? What for?”
“I’m not sorry for getting together with Leah.”
“But you fucking promised.”
